


Sword and Dagger

by Kibs



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Awkward Lavellan (Dragon Age), Cullen Fluff, Cullen Has Issues, F/M, Minor Lavellan/Cullen Rutherford, POV Lavellan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-21
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-03-22 03:44:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13755609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kibs/pseuds/Kibs
Summary: Cullen and Lavellen's relationship began slowly, in passing, but eventually grows into something more.





	1. Chapter 1

**_Cullen, Day 1_ **

A traveler was strewn on the floor, in the middle of a hand-drawn circle. Runes, elven language perhaps, pulsed on the edges, as if it were underwater. The traveler’s hand was splayed open wide, where a hot green light spilled from his fingertips. It looked to Cullen like an explosion, held back by an invisible barrier, slowly, slowly, burning out. The traveler himself looked pained, struggling to remain unconscious.

“You do not need to be here,” said the apostate. He sat cross-legged beside the traveler, holding his staff across his lap as the stone glowed hotly.

Cullen disregarded him, though he felt immense trepidation by standing so close to the magic. “What kind of magic is this?”

“An advanced containment spell. Keeping that magic from tearing her, and likely all of Haven, apart.”

Cullen’s face tightened in disgust, resonating deep into his core. “You’d better make sure of it, apostate.”

“And yet here you are distracting me,” he quipped, not looking away once.

Cullen left quickly after that, burning for his sword. He took a calming breath and made his way back to the war room to discuss what to do next. The truth was, there was little they could do until the prisoner work. He-… _she_ , would hopefully be able to answer their questions. 

* * *

 

**_Lavellen, Day 1_ **

The young woman stared into her lap through half-lidded eyes, seated heavily on a tough stone floor. Guards surrounded her, well-armed but at relative ease.  Her eyes darted back and forth, trying to count their numbers without giving away her consciousness. Again, she woke to an unfavorable situation, but a repetitive one. Shackles and soldiers. She would find a way out like she’d done before. Patience and deft hands were her best weapons, even though she would have greatly preferred daggers. 

Her left hand began to burn and itch, as if a spider had bitten down on it, and she cringed away from the sharp pain. She twisted her wrist and opened her fingers- and a spark of emerald green flared from her skin, illuminating the room, and reflecting in the drawn blades.

The doors before her opened inwards, and a group of women and men marched inside. A tall warrior circled the prisoner, pausing to lean in towards her shoulder. She was greeted with the threat, “Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you now.”

Patience, she reminded herself.

She stepped away, continuing to slowly pace. “The Conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead. Except you.”

The prisoner stared back, masking her horror with an indifferent, practiced expression. Dead? What in gods had happened? 

“Explain this!” The warrior shouted, snatching the prisoner’s wrist. Her hand pulsed sharply and flared green, before the warrior thrust it back down.

“I can’t,” the prisoner said stiffly, though urgently. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said. 

The woman raised the blade threateningly. “What do you mean you _can’t_?”

“I don’t remember!” she shouted, lifting her bound hands upward. “I don’t know _what_ it is, or _how_ it got there.”

“You’re lying!” The woman grabbed the prisoner’s coat, reaching to the skin underneath with a fierce grip.

“Enough, Seeker,” a man sternly shouted.

The prisoner swiveled her head to see a broad-shouldered human, clad in heavy armor. He looked away when her eyes caught his.

“He’s right, Cassandra,” said another woman, quickly pulling the warrior away. “We need her.”

The second woman, red-haired and dressed in a chain-mail coat, looked back at the prisoner. “What do you remember? From the beginning.” Her voice had more reason to it, but still the serious tone that demanded an answer the disoriented prisoner could not recall.

She closed her eyes a moment and tried. There were blurs of remembrance, and she grasped at them. “I…remember running.”

* * *

**_Cullen, Day 2_ **

Lelianna and Josephine pulled Cullen aside as Cassandra took the prisoner away. They were going to the forward camp to see the Conclave’s destruction themselves. If that didn’t jog the prisoner’s memory, nothing would.

“What do you think?” the women asked him.

“About the prisoner?” Cullen clarified. “I think if she isn’t executed for her crimes, the people of Haven will do it themselves.”

“So you think she’s guilty?”

Cullen crossed his arms, and stared up at the pulsing green of the Breach. “Is she a mage? Don’t elves have more proficiency for magic?”

Josephine shook her head. “Not always, Commander. But I agree that it would take immense magic to commit this crime.”

“She was found with daggers,” Lelianna added.

For some reason, that reassured him. Not a mage. “That doesn’t make her innocent,” Cullen started. “But…I’m not ready to blame her for all of this.”

“That’s easier for you to say than some,” Lelianna said bitterly.

Cullen put a hand on her shoulder, but it did not relax her. “I have to go.” she hurried off, flanked by two more scouts that followed her up the narrow game trails to the Conclave.

“It will not be easy proving her innocence,” Josephine said.

“If she is,” Cullen corrected.

~

Hours later, soldiers returned to Haven, with news that the rift in the Conclave had been sealed. Cullen inquired about the prisoner, and his first reports claimed she had died in battle. One told her she had died trying to seal it, others said a stray arrow caught her in the neck. They were intricately detailed for being contrasting stories.

Eventually, long after the sun had gone down, the truth was carried back in Cassandra’s arms. How tiny the prisoner looked then- her heavy winter layers pressed flat by Cassandra’s grip. How silly Cullen felt for mistaking her for a man. 

“She died, then?” Culled asked, jogging alongside Cassandra.

Cassandra shook her head firmly. “No, she did not. But she is exhausted.” Cassandra slowed as they approached Haven. “She is innocent, Cullen. I saw it for myself. Divine Justinia was killed by a demon, and this- _she_ …tried to save her.” Cassandra’s soft gaze steeled as she looked away from the woman in her arms. “She failed, clearly, but the destruction is not her’s.”

Again, Cullen felt relief. He slowed as Cassandra approached the healer’s cabin. “How did she survive?”

“The mark, perhaps. _That_ , for certain, is magic.”

Cullen frowned again, narrowing his eyes to see the dull glow from the prisoner’s limp hand. They had seen her use daggers, but could she still be a mage?

“Inform our people. She is not the enemy. She sealed the rift and agreed to ally herself with the Inquisition.” Then, softly, Cassandra added, “I believe Andraste sent her to us, Cullen. In these terrible times, perhaps she was ushered forth by the Maker.” Cassandra lifted her head and carried her inside. The door shut behind her, extinguishing the light, and leaving Cullen alone in the dark quiet.


	2. Chapter 2

 

**_Cullen, Day 5_ **

Commander Cullen jolted awake as his head rocked backwards. He caught the edge of the desk and wiped his eyes. The candle had burned halfway out, wax pooling over the desk onto the edge of the inventory report he’d been analyzing. He wiped the parchment and cursed, struggling to remember where he’d been before dozing off. Yes, boot bindings…

Again, his head started to tip, and he slammed his hands on the desk with a low shout. Cullen stood and left the war room. The Inquisition had been revived, and there was too much to attend to before he could sleep easy, or at all. The violet sky hardly contrasted with the dark horizon, but the snow held enough light for him to see. It was early morning, perhaps an hour until dawn.

His stomach ached needily, he’d skipped dinner after all. Has someone brought him a meal? He couldn’t remember. Only their blasted deficiency in swords. They had plenty of shields, but what good would their defenses do if they could never counterattack? Perhaps they could nail them into Haven’s walls.

He chuckled at the thought, and massaged his eyes. Food, then. He would eat, and return to work before it was time to train the new recruits.

He was curious to see the lights in the kitchen. Perhaps the servants were preparing breakfast already. There were subtle scents of honey and elfroot (and dirt?), and sure enough, an elf stood beside the hearth, their arms lazily draped over the counter, close to the low flames.

Cullen cleared his throat and took a seat on the opposite end. “Something, anything actually, if you don’t mind. A cut of bread with nug would suffice.” Definitely not his favorite, but he wouldn’t be picky.

The elf spun, and Cullen recognized them with a start- the prisoner. The elf. He hadn’t even got her name yet, but the scars were enough. The scars, and those wild-animal eyes. She was not necessarily young, but there was a frightful energy about her- like a ram, muscles bunched, alert, and ready to flee.

And she was holding a hunk of cheese, the honey jar open at her elbow and her startled expression was close to guilt. “I, uh- I could, if you like…?”

Cullen was already walking towards the cured meats. “No, no, I apologize. I mistook you for a servant.” He cut a thick slice of nug meat and wrapped it around a slice of bread.

“Because I’m an elf?” she asked.

Cullen felt the prickle of discomfort. “Well, yes, I apologize. Most of our servants are.”

She looked away, her tangled hair covering her face. “I see.”

He wished he could see her expression, but it was impossible. “Well, excuse me, then.”

The air felt chilly outside of the kitchen, and Cullen was relieved to be gone from it. As he returned, he realized he’d forgotten to ask for her name.

* * *

 

**_Lavellen, Day 30_ **

Lavellen had never been inside a war room before Haven. Even at clan meetings, they just sat in a circle and drew out strategies in the dirt between them. Lavellen had also rarely been invited to take part in such meetings. Though she was the daughter of the Clan Leader, it had been decided long ago that she would not be the next in line. A break of tradition was not something the Dalish were keen to, but Lavellen had been successful in persuading them. It had been easy, even. She just had to be herself.

But in Haven, her advisors looked to her for guidance and leadership. An unfamiliar feeling, but she listened to their advice keenly and trusted her instinct. At least she was not unfamiliar to war.

The room was vast, yet the soldiers crowded over a wide table, sketched with intricate maps and metal pieces signaling their forces. It was meager, even Lavellen could tell. They could not be in more than three places at once, or their troops would wear too thin. Cullen gave his suggestions, as did the other advisors. More than not, she sided with Lelianna and the Commander, eager to gather resources before sending forces into the field.

Soon, their armory was ripe with metals and tools for crafting, and the armsmen were hard at work forging new weapons for the soldiers. The sound of hot metal against the anvil was music to Cullen’s ears. He was reassured by the sounds, knowing that they would be well stocked soon enough.

“We must make ourselves present,” Josephine insisted. She had become frustrated at the lack of missions to extend their reach, and form alliances. “Our advancement in the Hinterlands has been successful, and our stables are full of horses again, but we must make allies. What good is a full armory with no soldiers to wield them?”

“What do you suggest then?” Lavellen asked, regarding the collection of pieces gathered in the hilly terrain of the mountains.

“We must take the fallow mire, and Storm Coast. Our scouts there have reported not only rare ore, but mercenaries. It is time for us to extend our hand.”

Lavellen nodded, and quickly pointed to the sea, decided. “The Storm Coast it is. A mercenary I have spoken with told me about his troop. They would be willing to ally with us if we go meet them.”

“Mercenaries,” Cullen scoffed. “No honor. If they find someone else with more coin-”

“How do you think alliances begin? Better to recruit the strays than someone else’s loyal hound,” Lelianna interjected.

Cullen frowned at the metaphor, but it made their situation more vivid. He nodded, reluctantly. “Fine then. We should go see them for ourselves.”

Lavellen nodded. “I agree. Cassandra, Varric…” she smiled, “and Sera, I think. We’ll go.”

Cullen’s frown deepened. “She’s an odd one.”

“And a fantastic judge of character,” Lavellen added with a grin. “She’ll help us determine if this group is worth recruiting.”

* * *

 

  ** _Cullen, Day 35_**

A few days later, Lavellen’s party returned, musty and damp, but in high spirits. They were not alone. An eclectic group of warriors joined Haven, following their quinari leader. Then the group vanished, and Cullen only found them later that evening in the Tavern, Inquisitor included, steadily downing mead and boisterously laughing.

When Lavellen saw him, her eyes lit up, and he thought maybe the two were different colors of amber, and she jumped forward out of her chair. Her flushed face was grinning eagerly. “Cullen! Came to join us?” she asked breathlessly, holding a flask of mead between them.

He put a hand up to keep it from spilling on himself. “Oh, no, not really, I- I was just curious,”

“He’s curious, eh?” the quinari spoke, lowering his own flask. He was massive, battle-worn. “Well, pull up a chair.”

“Yeah, curly,” said Varric, leaning away from his seat against the wall. “We’ve only just started.”

“I-, I really must get back,” he tried.

The Inquisitor was not having it. “ _Culleeeeen_!” Lavellen whined, taking her seat again. “You never spend time with us.”

He scratched the back of his head, embarrassed by her loud proclamation. All eyes were on him. Finally, he unclipped his coat and hung it beside Varric’s. “Perhaps one drink, then,” he agreed, and Lavellen lifted her flask to cheer. The entire group copied her, and Cullen was handed an overfull flask just in time to clank glasses. 

The last time he’d drank, it was to sate lyrium’s bite. He’d shut his eyes and opened his throat, and wished it to be over fast. Now, the night seemed to pass too quickly, among the pleasant company and atmosphere. Iron Bull was a great conversationalist, despite his rough appearance. Cullen found himself leaning forward beside Varric, debating _Kirkwall’s economic policies_ with the mercenary before Sera interrupted them with another round.

Cullen thought they all had just met and were still strangers, but it seemed they had already camped and battled together before returning to Haven. Nothing bonded soldiers better.

The quinari Iron Bull was a steady drinker, and it seemed Lavellen’s goal to keep up. That night, Lavellen draped herself over Cullen, pouring him refills and explaining how dalish parties didn’t allow for empty glasses, or to pour them for yourself. She smelled fresh like the ocean, but her hair had the sharp metallic scent of blood. He asked her about her home, and clan, and she seemed to sober a bit.

“I volunteered to go to the Conclave.” She leaned back and exhaled, her breath hot in the cool air. “They didn’t understand me, not really. I’m the Keeper’s daughter, but no mage. I will not be the next clan leader.” She used words Cullen didn’t understand, and occasionally she lapsed into elvish and he was lost entirely. Then at all once, she composed herself and turned to him instead. “And you, Cullen? Tell me something about _you_.”

He returned the smile as if it were a game. “What have you to know?” When she kept waiting, he rolled his shoulders and reached for something interesting. “I once lived in Kirkwall, as a captain of the Templars.”

“Me too,” she beamed. “Well, not as a captain. But, Kirkwall all the same.”

“Kirkwall?” Varric piped in. It was his hometown as well. “Really, Lavellen? Away from your clan?”

She shied away from all the attention, though calmly. “Ah, well it was a different time. Cullen, did you ever try the cakes from the shop above the Blooming Rose?”

He was overcome with a furious blush, and Varric let out a chortle into his flask.

“I-I usually avoided that area,” Cullen stammered.

“I heard they’re phenomenal,” Varric continued. “Maybe a little sweet, _dainty_ ,” he elbowed Cullen discreetly as he spoke, and the human kept his mouth tight.

It was then Sera asked why the sky was getting lighter. “It’s _purple_ now instead of black!” she said angrily, as if the change had personally offended her. “I hate purple…”

“Well, Iron Bull,” Lavellen said, swiftly rising to her feet and clasping the man’s wrist. Cullen was surprised that she did not so much as wobble. She must have weighed more in mead than blood.

Iron Bull took hers in a firm grip as well. “And you, Inquisitor Lavellen.” 

“Let’s save the next night like this for after we kill that dragon,” she said, and the quinari beamed eagerly.

“Better not keep me waiting too long.”

* * *

 

**_Cullen, Day 36_ **

Lavellen approached him the next day, her hair neatly braided, but the dark circles under her eyes hinted at the previous night.

Cullen’s head ached as well, but he’d had his dose of lyrium for the day and felt revived. “Ah, hello.”

“Hello, Commander,” she greeted. “I was meaning to speak with you.” Her words seemed rehearsed. “Is now good?”

“Yes, of course.” A lightness tickled his chest. He was deeply curious what she would say and there was an idea tugging at the back of his mind, but he pushed it down, drowning it out.

“I apologize for the way I behaved last night,” she began, again so practiced. “I hope you weren’t made uncomfortable.”

He frowned. “No, of course not.”

“I spoke ill of my clan, like a child. And-augh…” she rubbed at her nose, fighting a headache.

“Lavellen, I think it was a good decision. Drinks create stronger bonds. You were introducing our new allies to Haven. If not tradition, a good decision on your part.”

Lavellen hadn’t doubted an evening, night, and early morning spent at the tavern would help everyone become familiar. She vaguely remembered laying across Cullen’s lap to refill his flask, intentionally curving her back, lidding her eyes…She felt a fool of herself. “I apologize for…my behavior,” she said slowly.

Cullen remembered her _behavior_ as well, and the smell of blood. “Ah, you…” He was at an unexpected loss. He wanted to tell her not to apologize, but that would insinuate he _enjoyed_ it.  

His longer than normal pause made her skittish, and she backed out of his study. “It won’t happen again,” she said, and fled behind the shut door. He could hear her running.

Cullen groaned and pushed his chin into his hand. His headache returned.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**_Lavellan, Day 100, Sealing the Breach_ **

When she looked at the empty, snow-specked air, it became one of the happiest moments of her life. The soldiers behind her cheered, and Varric smacked below her shoulders and she stumbled, catching his grin. Cassandra was beaming, looking more beautiful than she ever had with a glare- even the blood across her face did not mar her appearance.

Lavellan hardly heard them above her own loud breaths, her elated heartbeat. _It was done_.

In the midst of cheering and the rush of elation, Lavellan turned and found Cullen among his soldiers, and they smiled at each other. Relieved. Proud.

They returned to Haven as an advent of uplifted Templars and Inquisition soldiers. Lavellan started at the front, but younger soldiers’ excitement got the better of them, and they rushed ahead into the town to spread the word. As the Inquisitor’s party reached the gates, people were heading their way, and they hardly entered Haven before crowds engulfed them with praise. They swept around her like a tide and Lavellan struggled to shake all their hands, being pulled in all directions at once, lifted and kissed.

Finally, Commander Cullen barred their path so she could slip away.

The clamor didn’t die down. Haven began preparing a celebration, which mostly meant cooking, and soon the town was pluming with scents of dinner. Rumbling smoke came from tent-tops, carrying the wonderful scents of rising bread and crisping meat.

The Dalish had their festivals, oh how they celebrated. But every gathering had been similar in Lavellan’s opinion, despite the occasion. Birth, Death, Ceremony of Union…they all prepared the food the same way and sung the same tunes. Restricted to August Ram, or whatever game lurked where they settled. Nothing imported or traded with larger cities. Once, Lavellan had encountered a group of Dalish who passed through a port town, and seen rare fish from the sea larger than herself. But her family only traded the same, and she’d never gotten to taste it for herself.

Haven boasted amazing stores, and a trading caravan had recently passed through with impeccable timing. A dozen kinds of meat and seafood, salted with exotic spices were cut on slabs to be roasted. Fires lit up the snowy town, and the place was finally warm. Turnips wrapped in cheeses, heavily salted to infuse a bittersweet taste. Cubed meat molded with burnt elfroot, sliced over freshly baked bread, melting into one another. She drifted from fire to fire, taking what samples were offered, grateful that she did not have to even ask.

Before the main courses were ready, she was stumbling away with a full stomach, and childish delight.

* * *

 

Cassandra found her later, sitting at the edge of Haven in the dim light. Still as she was, she blended with the shadows stretching over the ground, cast from torchlight. Cassandra noticed her Dalish tattoo marking up one side of her face, through her eye, but in such a pale ink that it took unique lighting to see it. By then, the elf noticed Cassandra and beckoned her over.

“You did well,” Cassandra greeted.

Lavellan smiled back, with a nod. Cassandra still wore her armor as well, but her braid was freshly done and she looked both beautiful and powerful. The two women had bonded since they first met. It was a yet stretch to call themselves friends, but allies would not be a lie.

“It was everyone’s effort,” the Inquisitor said. “The Templars have done well proving themselves, and you all,” she gestured to the fire where Josephine, Leliana, and Cullen sat. “Did well to get us here. I just…” the elf raised her hand to the sky, where the breach once distorted the sky, and made a fist.

Cassandra shifted, cracking into fresh snow. “Still, you could have left this to us. I appreciate that you did not.”

Lavellan stared into her drink, warm from praise. “Well…the food here is much better,” she added.

Cassandra laughed. “Yes, I agree.”  

* * *

**_Cullen, Day 100_ **

“Look at our girls,” Leliana said, nodding towards the edge of the fires where Cassandra stood. “To think Cassandra wanted her dead not long ago.” It took Cullen a moment to distinguish Lavellan from the shadows, only when the firelight flared and reached her. She was clean and looked happy. The scars on her face creased when she smiled, like laughing-lines.

Josephine nudged him, hard. “I think Cullen only sees one of them, though.”

“Ah, he has eyes for our mighty Inquisitor, doesn’t he?” they joked.

He shoved them away, and they fell over each other, laughing giddily from mead and their jokes.

Yes, the breach was sealed, but still there were more rifts. Demons and monsters, and rebel mages. There was whoever had opened the sky in the first place. He did not doubt their Inquisitor was strong, but her work was not done. Neither was his.

“Oh, come now,” Leliana said, pushing back into him.

“Go talk to her, at least,” Josephine urged. “She actually has quite a _bold_ sense of humor.”

“And I want to see what happens,” Leliana said, leaning into Cullen, eyes sparkling.

Well…talking wasn’t a commitment. It would be proper- he hardly knew about her. Beyond that one night when they drank with Iron Bull, and meetings in the War Room, they had evaded each other. Learning more about her would be interesting. Not just interesting, he realized he _wanted to_.

He finished the dregs of his mead and studied the fire, glancing at Cassandra and the Inquisitor. As if he’d shouted, Cassandra looked up and met his eyes. Then, surprisingly, she gave him a knowing smile, and dismissed herself from Lavellan.

“Good luck,” she said lowly on her way by.

Luck? For what, he was just…

Well.

Lavellan sat up straighter when she saw Cullen approaching. “Do you mind if I join you for a bit?” he said, having repeated the phrase over and over in his head.

She shook her head, but stood. “Of course not, but I’ve been sitting for too long. Care to walk?”

He smiled, relieved to get away from the women’s sight. “That would be nice.”

They skirted the edge of the festivities, and took the path out of Haven, towards their stores of trebuchets and the lake. “I came here often when I first arrived,” she said, looking out across the still water.

“It reminds me of Crestwood,” Cullen added. “My home, before I Ieft to Kirkwall.”

“You joined the Templars there, then…left?”

Cullen nodded, sinking into the direction of the conversation. “Yes, but it’s not a pleasant story.” 

She remained quiet, open for him to decide.

“I was with a group of Templars, responsible for a circle of mages. They became plagued by demons. I was the only one to survive.” He massaged his hands, sliding over old scars. He tried to ground himself, not to be drawn back to that night.

Lavellan’s face tightened, but she held down any gasp. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s in the past.”

“But you still feel…well, mages still make you uncomfortable?”

He scratched his neck. “I’ve moved on. But yes, I supposed I can’t help it sometimes.”

She focused on the smooth expanse of ice. “I can’t blame you- no one should,” despite how she spoke, she sounded disappointed.

Their romantic walk wasn’t playing out like either of them had hoped.

“Thank you for having faith in me,” she said, to the lake.

Cullen smiled. “Thank you for earning it. You’ve worked hard, and it’s paid off.”

“Not yet,” she continued. “There’s so much work to be done still, I don’t know when I will even return to my clan.” Her voice tapered off again.

“Do you wish to?” Cullen ventured. From their brief encounters, she’d spoke about her Dalish family solemnly. She did not hate them, but he could feel her longing for something more than what that life had offered her. Whatever Dalish life was like- Cullen did not know.

“Not yet, certainly,” she finally replied, then gave a breathy laugh. “I’m sure they’re not desperate for my return either.” Again, that sad, almost bitter tone.

Cullen offered her a reassuring smile. “Well, I…hope you stay for a while longer as well, Lavellan.” 

She laughed again, eyes darting back and forth between the lake, and Cullen. “Really? Why is that?”

The Commander felt his lungs tighten, and she continued to laugh at whatever expression his face had taken.

“I-I’m sorry,” she stammered. “It’s mean of me, I think.” She looked nervous again to, as if when Cullen gave an answer, she wouldn’t be able to take it. Maybe he would then. It was only fair.

And suddenly, Lavellan’s expression stilled. She frowned and turned her head. “Did you hear that?”

Cullen listened, but he could only hear the distant sounds of Haven- laughter, music. “I’m not-”

The crackling scream of a dragon cut through all other noise, and a plume of white-hot fire illuminated the rooftops of Haven as the massive, shadowy beast passed above them. It’s hooked claws tore open stone rooftops, raining debris down on the village, and the only other sound was screaming.  

Cullen and Lavellan sprinted back towards Haven. “Get your troops together!” Lavellan shouted, leaping over a burning pile of stones. Her daggers were already in hand.  “Meet back at the War Room!”

He nodded, eyes fixed on an unfamiliar soldier approaching the gates.

The dragon twisted back in a sharp arc, to the mountain across the lake. Dozens of lights, torches- no, mage staffs, illuminated the hillside as an army washed towards them.

An army of _mages_ , Cullen realized, and all the breath left his lungs at once.

“Cullen! Move!” Lavellan shouted, before giving him a shove and dashing towards an archer. They had come from nowhere, cloaked in stealth, and taken aim at the Commander. But Lavellan was a rouge as well, and her speed managed to overtake the archer’s. Their bow snapped as they fell, dead from a swift and deep strike. “Go!” she shouted to him, and Cullen nodded.

* * *

 

**_Lavellan, Day 100_ **

Lavellan turned hard, and lunged into the burning door with her foot, and it gave way against her assault. “Get out of here!” she told him, and slid back into the road. The entire town was alight- a bright, ugly fire that clawed at the humble occupancies. She followed the nearest scream around the bend, and nearly crashed into a soldier. As she stumbled back, she realized it was not one of hers. He drew a blade, and she dashed back into his defenses and whisked her dagger through the soft patches of armor. Wounded, he crumpled against his slashed knees. “Finish him!” she cried to a soldier, half-armed, trying to get his bearings to fight. He took Lavellan’s order eagerly, and gave a war cry while he charged into the fray.

She heard clanging metal behind her as she raced into town.

Again, the door was stuck, melted together. “Hold on!” she shouted, stomping against the splinters. She fell through it, but no one ran out. So, the elf ducked inside, assaulted by a violent wave of heat. She could hardly see through it- her eyes felt like they would melt, but she found him, folded over a timber. “Move!” She shouted, then squatted and lifted the pillar up, enough for him to wriggle free. She dropped it back with a hiss, her hands burnt by not damaged. The whole home gave a moan, and the Inquisitor led him outside just in time to avoid the smoldering, crushing debris.

Lavellan knew she was moving at a sprint, yet the scene unfolded as if time had slowed down. Her ears rang, magnifying her own breaths, and muting the sounds of battle, though she was not oblivious to it. Approaching an enemy soldier from behind, she leapt and sliced the soft tissue behind his helmet, and jumped back before he could tumble with her. It felt more like a clan skirmish than a war battle. Dirty tactics- different than the straightforward fights she’d been in recently. Thus, her own techniques devolved in leaps and bounds, and her stance lowered to aim for the backs of knees and elbows, as if she were fighting demons or game, not humans. Her cries became feral- her speed inhuman.

“That’s enough!” Varric shouted, grabbing her wrist firmly. “You’ve done all you can!” His tight grip drew her back to herself, grounding her. She exhaled hard, catching her breath, and spat blood. The motion stung her face- perhaps her nose was broken.

Lavellan cast one more look to the towering flames, and saw the timbers crumbling. Bones would be melting too. Varric gave her a tug and she followed back to the War Room. 

Inside, survivors were pacing, and murmuring urgently. Lady Giselle was with them, trying to reassure the younger ones. Urging them to have faith, in case this would be their last day.

When Lavellan entered, they silenced. Even those weeping. 

Cassandra strode over and met her. “Inquisitor. This is everyone.”

Those words stung her like ice. There were _so few_. Lavellan kept moving, until she reached Cullen. He smelled of hot ash and his armor was dented in places, but he’d made it. Now, she would send him away again. “Cullen, take the survivors and get them out of here.”

The Commander stepped forward, frowning at her choice of words. “And you?”

Her face was already tight, but then her eyes creased with guilt. “He wants me- this whole damn conflict is my fault. I’ll distract him while you get everyone to safety.”

“You’re staying behind?”

Lavellan tightened a loose buckle on her jacket. She pulled it secure, almost too tight, and pulled her hair from its messy knot. “I’ll do my best not to die.”

Cullen grit his teeth, fighting back everything else he wanted to say for a short- “You’d better.” As she started, he caught her wrist. “We’ll send up a signal when we’re safe. That’s how you’ll know.”

She finally smiled and nodded.

They separated, and she tucked her hair into a helm and the doors parted for her. A wave of heat, the terrible stench of destruction, flowed into the hall, and the Inquisitor stepped forward into it without hesitation.

* * *

 

**_Cullen, Day 100_ **

Cullen faced the crowds. “You heard her! We’re getting out of here- move!”

The Chantry leader limped slowly, until Cassandra gave him her shoulder and helped him along. The warrior understood the urgency of their escape- not just to flee death, but to save the Inquisitor. Alone, she could not defeat the demon. Yet alone she was, they had left her.

Cullen picked up the flank, just behind Leliana and Josephine. If any demons came, he would kill them before his friends could notice.

“Have faith,” Leliana said, slowing just enough to pace him.

Cullen focused on the coin pendant around his neck and Leliana’s words. _Maker, let them reach safety. Let them send the signal in time._

The crowds backed up against the sealed doors, but Cullen and Cassandra together broke through its frozen hinges. They were greeted with a gust of cold, fresh air, and an open snowfield. But it was not flames, not destruction. He would accept that.

They drew torches and made a path for the nearby mountains. It was not far, but many succumbed to the deep snowfall, and had to be carried. Some would never wake up.

Finally, they reached the protection of the mountain, where the winds could not reach as strong, and the snow had not gathered. Some collapsed onto the dirt, only strength enough to breathe, others reached for the stones and wept.

Cullen emptied his bag urgently, and produced the flare. The winds were strong overhead, and he sent a prayer to Andraste that its light would carry. It shot off with a loud whistle, and broke into the snowclouds. He lost sight of it, until it burst in a quick orange spark.

It was just the sound of cruel wind after that.

Cassandra hit his shoulder. “Enough, we have work to do,” she said, and started unpacking supplies, though her eyes lingered on the sky as well. 

* * *

 

**_Lavellan, Day 100_ **

Lavellan’s swift attack was deflected by the demon’s open palm. He pushed her back and she careened into the snow, losing her daggers in the tumble. She inhaled a breath of powder snow and shook her head. Dizzily, she stood again, and faced him.

Corypheus mocked her repeated attempts with pompous quips. Then he extended a long finger and pointed to her hand. “You have something that belongs to me.”

He wanted the mark- the _Anchor_? For what? Certainly nothing good. She would keep it on her hand.

Vindictively, it bit into her skin and she shook with pain. “I didn’t ask for this!” She shouted, realizing too late what her choice of words meant. She’d been reminded how furious she was. How little she wanted to be the Herald.

Taking no mind to her outburst, the demon snatched her by the wrist and lifted her off the snow. The mark sparked angrily, she rocked in the air, stunned. She caught her breath as he spoke, his voice rougher with each word, feeding off his frustration. How she had ruined his plans, something that should have been simple. That only death would undo her mistakes now. 

He flung her back to the ground, just a slight motion of his wrist, but she went flying. Landing on the stiff wood of the trebuchet’s platform, she rolled off her throbbing shoulders and searched wildly for a direction. Her daggers were gone, buried in the snow, but one of Cullen’s swords chilled at her feet. Lavellan took it, unaccustomed to the heavy weight, unsure where to put her hands for the best grip. She felt clumsy like the first time she’d stabbed a nug, and she felt just as terrified as it must have.

He rose taller before her, imposing. “Haven is gone. You will fall, and so will your petty Inquisition.”

Lavellan shook her head, knees bent as she swayed, hands flexing, readjusting. Then, a low whistle caught her ears, and she followed the sound in the sky, to the remnants of a dying flare, far behind Haven. She let her breath out. _Cullen- he’d done it_.

“Not yet, Corypheus. Not tonight!” She swung the blade high and brought the sword through the heavy rope of the trebuchet as if cutting air. The stone launched swiftly, cracking against the mountainside, bone against bone, and both crumbled.

Lavellan dashed for cover, from the landslide, half of the mountain, and Corypheus with his dragon.

The mass of roaring snow, and the coal-fires of the dragonbreath felt like too much to be real. Too much to ever survive. She leapt, dodging the full impact of something against her back, and then she fell as her ankles tangled on crumbling earth, breaking through the ground as if she were falling to the pit of the world itself. 


	4. Chapter 4

**_Lavellan, Day 101_ **

* * *

 

Lavellan woke suddenly and lurched off the packed ground. Her spine cracked as she sat up, and as sharp pain rung out in her side she cried out in the dark. The pain blurred her vision, but she quickly moved to her feet and hobbled a few paces, working her numb legs, and slowly it sated. She moved her hand away from the sting in her side and saw fresh blood. She’d just opened whatever wound had clotted while she was unconscious. Then she narrowed her eyes at the boxy ceiling, held together by carved stones and support beams, and she realized it was a mine.

So that’s how she’d survived. Thrown herself away from a dragon and into a hole like a rat. _A rat that survived_ she reminded herself.

Lavellan buckled up her boots where they’d fallen open, and followed the tunnel. She wrapped her arms around herself and trudged along, her steps cracking over frozen soil- Oh, how she despised the cold. What did it even feel like to be warm? Lavellan couldn’t remember. She slid down a muddy hill when the path declined, and landed in a dark clearing, which suddenly illuminated green. They’d turned on her as if she’d interrupted a funeral, and howled. She recognized the high-pitched cry of despair demons, and felt their chilled breaths a moment later. Lavellan reached for her daggers, and came back empty, but the path back was too steep to retreat. A spirit howled and charged, a cold, emerald blur. Lavellan bunched her muscles and sprung away, only to be flanked by a Terror, springing from the ground and tossing her back with a swift whip of its arm. When she collected herself and lifted her head, a spirit struck her jaw and she fell back against the frostbitten stones. Her vision shook, as if she’d broken her nose and all she could see were blurs of wafting emerald, like threads of the Rift itself.

But what could she do? Her panic was numbed and her body aching so much that it felt unreal, but she would die there if she remained so calm. She needed something else, some other emotion to give her strength. An anger, or desire, but-…she was tired. Cassandra and Iron Bull would mock her, and Sera would be disappointed, but quick to move on. Varric would help, but he was too far away. And Cullen-…that’s right. He told her to come back alive. She’d promised to try.

Her left hand suddenly burst into light, so warm it melted the snow underneath. She flung the mark in the direction of the spirits, and they finally hissed and cried out. A plume of green, not unlike Solas’ magic, rolled under them like a tide, and pulled the spirits through the air. They caught alight like moths in a blazing fire, and Lavellan felt the power raging, as if she was containing it in her open palm. So, with a shout, she made a fist, crushing them under it, and the creatures finally howled out and all at once faded.

Lavellan dropped her arm and gasped for air, until the shocking sensation was gone. Slowly, she picked herself up and examined the mark, but the light had all but faded, though it still felt warm. “What was that?” She suddenly coughed and wiped her mouth, frowning nervously at the smeared red it left on her forearm.

Time to move.

The mine opened to a growling blizzard. She could see a mountaintop above the storm, one she may have recognized, so she began carving a path towards it. It soon vanished in the deep clouds. Vanished, just like Haven. How many people survived? Or did Corypheus and his archdemon beast find them? Oh damn, the screaming. So many people she hadn’t reached, to die under falling embers and choking snow. What kind of a Herald was she? None, she reminded herself. None. The Andraste Cassandra spoke of was a different fairytale than the ones she’d been raised on. And she did not believe either of them.

She pushed onwards, through swaying woods and up a steep snowbank, hopeful of the mountain she’d aimed for. Her knees shook as the snow rose to them, each step draining all the energy she thought she had left, but she focused on a glowing patch and pushed on. Finally, the snow became shallow and hard-packed enough to stand on, and she found a dying fire pit, coals still warm below her numb fingers. She took one in her numb hands, saw her blue fingers, and finally felt the sting of heat. She squinted down into the white valley, searching for something else among the snow. Below, nestled between the slanting walls of the mountain, more light. Lavellan walked towards it, occasionally sliding on the ice below the powdery snow. Every time, it became more difficult for her to get up.

If she could just make it…she…It would be all right…

Nearing the light, she heard voices. The familiar, irked commands of Cassandra, and quipped responses that fought to be as elegant. And Cullen’s voice- angrier than usual but still so nice to hear. He was alive, too, then. The voices changed direction, becoming more distinct. Soldiers began running towards her, whether they knew it was Lavellan or not. Cullen shouted, as the group ran towards her. “She’s alive!” Lavellan smiled weakly, guilty and pained, and finally crumbled to her knees in the snow.

_**Lavellan, Day 101** _

* * *

 

Lavellan woke sporadically, jolted awake by a sharp pain, or persistent voice. She felt her boots peeled off, and groaned in response to a slap on her cheek, but could not form words, nor protests beyond incoherent noises. It felt as if she wasn’t even on the ground, but held aloft by a dozen grasping hands. Someone began digging into her ribs, and she arched upwards with a cry. Was she being attacked again? Why were they not helping her? Her arm lashed out, and caught someone’s hand with her own. She used it as an anchor, and when their fingers pushed back into hers, Lavellan finally steadied, and eventually faded into blissful sleep.

_**Cullen, Day 101** _

* * *

Cassandra took her inside one of tents and set her on a cot on the ground, entering through the back so the survivors would not see. If she was dying, it would not raise morale, but the tent was soon crowded. “Lavellan, are you injured?” Leliana tried to ask, while touching the elf’s face, neck, all the exposed skin she could get at.

“How bad is it? Will she live?” Cullen added, their voices competing.

“One at a time!” Josephine snapped.

“ _Enough_!” Cassandra’s voice easily rose above the others’ and quieted them. “Cullen, fetch something dry for her. Leliana, Josephine, help me.” They brought a torch close to the cot and Cassandra’s deft hands quickly stripped Lavellan of her frosted clothes, and Josephine took them outside to dry above the fire.

Leliana crouched above her, gently prodding at the leaking cut in her side. “She does not seem to be badly injured, but this wound needs tending to. I need a healer!”

“Here-” Cullen said, leading with a heavy fur coat as he came back inside. When he caught sight of her, he quickly turned his back and Cassandra took the coat from him, tucking Lavellan inside. It was warm, as if he’d just ripped it from someone.

Then, the Tevinter mage Dorian ducked into the tent. “You needed a healer? Let me see her, I can help.”

“You just showed up,” Cassandra noted, her eyes narrowed suspiciously as she rose to her feet imposingly. “Impeccable timing.”

The mage waited at the edge of the tent patiently. “I understand your hesitation, but I bear no ill will. I want to see you succeed, and I do not want to see this woman die. Now, please…”

Reluctantly, the warrior let him through. They did not have the resources to be picky. He set his staff down, and Cullen watched the mage nervously.

Dorian touched the deep wound in the elf’s side, fingers skirting the parted skin gently with a dull glow, as if fireflies were trapped under his fingerprints. Cullen saw the green light ebb and flow then illuminate inside her skin, a jagged shape under her bones. Dorian’s eyes narrowed, focused.

“There is a piece of metal…I can remove it.” His hands came alive with fire, for just a moment, before extinguishing. He set his hands on her skin, and Cullen prickled nervously as the smell of ozone filled the tent. “This will be unpleasant.” He parted her bloody skin and reached inside, up to his second knuckle.

Lavellan lurched up off the cot with a cry, tearing away from him.

“Steady!” the mage warned.

Her arm lashed out, and Cullen swiftly caught her hand before it could hit anyone. Her grip tightened against his fingers, and he returned the pressure. She took heavy breaths, but her body stilled, until finally, the mage withdrew a sword tip and dropped it on the ground.

Cassandra’s faith in him solidified- that was the proof she needed, drenched with the Herald’s own blood.

Cullen would still not trust mages, not after what they did to Haven, but he was grateful for Dorian’s powers then. Perhaps he was one of the good ones.

“There, you did well,” Dorian said in a soothing voice. “Now, let’s stitch you up.”

Cullen stood to go, but Lavellan’s grip tightened, just as it was his fingertips. He looked to her face, but her head was to the side, as if she did not want to look at him.

He hesitated, and Cassandra nodded at him to sit again. “Stay a while, Cullen.”

It was warm inside, bodies pressed close together, all relaxing into the realization that the Herald was alive. Cullen watched the small motions of her breathing- the fur rising and falling like a sleeping wolf. He could just see her hair, still dripping wet, hanging across the pillow. Her braid had come undone, and only soft waves remained. He wondered what she, and the others, would do if he tried to fix it. He doubted she even knew whose hand she was clinging to. He waited until the wound was stitched by the mage’s fingers, and like magic, she let him go.


	5. Chapter 5

The next morning, Lavellan found a perch on a rock looking down into the camp to address them. Cullen walked away from the gathering to stand on the edge, to see her better.

She was pale, but stood in front of them tall, powerful. “We will survive,” she started, her voice commanding any wandering attention. “We already have.” She looked at her meager crowd. Many wounded, all exhausted. “In these mountains there is a hidden stronghold. There, we will rebuild, and return more powerful than ever. We will make those responsible know that we are still alive, and make them pay.”

Cullen was surprised at her choice of words, but not at the crowd’s energized reaction. As they cheered, her eyes darted to him and she gave a slight nod. With a smile, he realized her goal. Get them angry enough to fight through the pain and the cold and the loss. Once they got to this so-called stronghold, they would establish a more solid plan than revenge.

“Commander,” she called. “When will we be ready to move?”

“Within the hour,” he replied.

She nodded back, solemn, and dropped down to meet with Solas. It was still too soon to smile.

* * *

 

**_Lavellan, Day 105_ **

Lavellan struggled with hunting small game. She strained to kill nugs and hares without slashing off so much of the meat that their pelts were no longer good for even boots. Sera or Varric’s bow were more suited for the hunt, so they had gone South to the sunnier meadows to find deer, leaving the colder North to the Inquisitor. She’d insisted upon the solitude. After days of close-knit travel with so many others, she was desperate for time to herself. That mage, Dorian, had been following her like a shadow to check up on her wounds, and she’d had enough of it.

Back in her clan, the wounded would be sent out to hunt even hours after being patched up.

Lavellan wore a new heavy coat of fur, one Cullen had apparently gifted her, and ventured into the wilds alone. He’d never asked for it back, and she realized with a pang of regret that she hadn’t spoken to him since Haven. 

The snapping of frozen leaves caught her attention. At the edge of the clearing stood a young august ram. It was probably as confused as she was, since they should have taken to the valley before the snow fell. Perhaps he’d gotten lost. Either way, large game was an easy kill.

She crouched and moved through the snow, heading towards the trees at an angle to flank it. She took a slow step back onto a branch, felt it flex under her weight, then snap wetly as she held her breath. The sound was muffled, but perhaps more ominous, and the ram’s neck straightened. It saw her instantly, its amber eyes wide at the appearance of a bear huddled under its pelt, and Lavellan dashed out of cover. Before it could dash, the Herald grabbed its antler, pulling it back down, and slit its exposed throat. Hot blood rushed out of the lavender coat, and she held it firmly, hushing it until it finally died and the forest quieted again. 

She dressed the animal quickly, cutting its meat into sizable pieces to carry back. The pelt was a beautiful lavender, and she took extra time in skinning it. On a whim, she snapped off the antlers as well. She used to carve them while traveling with her clan, when she couldn’t sleep. She’d almost forgotten.

The crows were upon the carcass as soon as she turned away from it, as they had been watching patiently. She wondered if any were Leliana’s.

* * *

 

 

After distributing the meat at camp, dodging conversation, Lavellan hurried to her tent and shook out her damp clothes. Slowly, she peeled back her tunic and prodded at the tight bandages on her side. She ached still, but that rapidly closing wound was all the reminder left on her body. Her mind however, would hold onto the memories of Haven’s destruction like thorns.

Heavy footsteps approached and stopped at her tent. “Lavellan?”

Cullen! His voice muffled behind canvas. 

She folded her bandages back. “Yes, come in,” she replied.

The soldier ducked inside the tent, bending his head to not graze the ceiling. His eyes widened a bit before diverting elsewhere. “Ah, is this a bad time?”

Lavellan slid her arms back through her coat. It was nothing inappropriate, but she felt rather immodest among these soldiers. Back in her clan, it wasn’t uncommon to change clothes in the open, but among the people of Haven...  
She clipped her coat shut. “No, no, I apologize. What do you need?”

“I just wanted to inform you that we’ll be heading out soon. Leliana’s scouts have reported a protected clearing along the river that would make good camp. But it’s located on the opposite bank, so we’ll have to make a crossing.”

To Lavellan, crossing a river was simple. Finding a shallow patch and toting all your belongings on your head. Wading through naked. She quickly realized it would be vastly different with an entire colony. “I see,” she finally said, pressing a finger to her lip, imagining it messily. “How would you go about it?”

Cullen shut his eyes to think. “The oldest and youngest should be carried across. Once they’re accounted for, with some others, they can go ahead to prepare the camp. We can build a makeshift bridge over the rocks for the wagons. We’ve done it before.”

It seemed a daunting task for the rest of the daylight hours. “You think you can do it all today?”

Cullen nodded without pause. “Of course. My soldiers are prepared for such a plan. All I have to do is let them know it’s been decided,” he concluded, setting his eyes back on her.

“Then tell them.”

* * *

_**Cullen, Day 105** _

The troops examined the steady incline, leading up to the drop-off. Perhaps a two-leap distance between the edges, below them the foaming river. Lavellan wondered if she could make it, with a running start, leaping across the old snag which connected the riverbanks, worn with pawprints of sure-footed forest creatures like her.

“Sturdy,” Cullen announced, though he was frowning skeptically. “If we brace it and widen it with more timbers, this could be our best guess.”

“I prefer a shallow crossing,” Varric said.

“But the current is too strong, even in the shallows,” Scout Harding explained, then frowned. “Believe us, we tried.”

“Unless that Quinari wants to carry us all across, we should avoid the water altogether,” Dorian said. “Allow me,” he ungloved his hands and set them in the air above the timber as if they were grasping an unseen rope. The loose trees and stones rumbled and began to shift to his will, coming together to form the narrow bridge. He dropped his hands, but their path remained.

Dorian walked to the edge beside Lavellan and examined the narrow patch of river. “The water is fast. Take care not to slip,” he added, as the light flecks of rainfall began to come faster.

The scouts went ahead first, moving deliberately. Then most of the soldiers, and people of Haven, moving briskly down a single-file line.

A bolt of lightning struck the ground nearby, setting the pines momentarily ablaze before the downpour sated the flames. The impact sent the ground shaking as a pair of soldiers were crossing the bridge, and they struggled to keep balance on the slick timbers. The youngest soldier gave a shout and tumbled down off the bridge, taking half of the timbers with him as he tried to hold on. He vanished instantly below the frothing rapids, his cries silenced.

Dorian lifted his arms with a gasp, and held the rest of the bridge in place. “Go!” he shouted at the remaining crowd. “I can’t hold it forev-”

Lavellan rushed past him, but instead of taking the bridge, she leapt into the air and followed the soldier’s path into the water.

“Lavellan, _no_!” Cullen shouted, but she was already gone.

His soldiers murmured loudly behind him, until he ordered them to move. They hurried, not without a few more slips, but Cullen tugged them across by their collars until the last had made it safely.

Then he joined Dorian and Cassandra racing down the riverbank.

“If she’s no dead, I’ll kill her!” Cassandra warned, her face tight.

Cullen didn’t speak, his heart thrumming wildly behind his ribs. _What was she thinking? How could she-_

“There!” Cassandra shouted, gesturing down the beach. Lavellan was hunched over river stones, the soldier limply swung across her back.

A sharp pang of relief stung Cullen's lungs, and he let out a humid breath. 

Cassandra trudged in up to her knees and took the man from her, and the elf collapsed in the shallows to catch her breath. Cullen slid his hand under her arm and helped her stand. She shook with a cough and followed him to shore. "Is he-" she started, before covering her mouth to cough again. 

Cassandra stretched the soldier out on the gray sand and gave his pale cheek a slap. She slid her fingers under his chin for a pulse. "He's still alive, but..."

Lavellan was at his side again with her daggers, and cut the man’s bindings to lift his chest plate. She forced a breath into the man’s throat, and instantly the soldier lurched up with a cough, spilling water over his chin.

“There you are,” Cullen said, holding the man steady, helping him sit up. “Easy now…”

He grabbed at Cullen’s arms, finding his breath and bearings. “T-Thought I was gone…” He set his eyes on Lavellen as she stood back up.

Cassandra’s hands flexed back and forth between fists, and she gave a low sigh. “You should not have done that,” she said firmly, grabbing Lavellan’s shoulder. “What would we have done if you died?”

The elf let Cassandra hold her. Riverwater dripped from her face, and she made no move to wipe it away as it smeared over her eyes. She lifted her chin high, and gently placed her hand over Cassandra’s. “Nothing,” she said.

The warrior let her go with a shove and Lavellan walked past.

Cullen watched the elf leave them, moving through the damp woods, barefooted he realized, as if she were a creature born there.

“She really is Dalish,” Dorian said quietly, his gaze distant.

She vanished in the misty rain, but Cullen never stopped searching for her. "Suppose she is..." 


End file.
